Emily was still deeply troubled about Valancourt’s fate. After much searching, Theresa finally found someone she could trust to carry a message to the steward. She told Emily that the messenger would return the following day.
Theresa was too lame to go with her, so Emily promised to visit the cottage alone.
That evening, Emily set out with a heavy heart. A sad feeling had already taken hold of her, and the gloomy weather only increased her fears.
It was a cold, grey autumn evening near the end of the season. Thick mist covered parts of the mountains, and a sharp wind moved through the beech woods, scattering the last yellow leaves across her path.
The falling leaves, spinning helplessly in the wind, reminded Emily of the dying year. In her imagination, they seemed like a warning that Valancourt’s life had also come to an end.
Several times she almost turned back. She feared that she would hear the terrible truth she already expected. Yet she forced herself forward, fighting against her emotions.
As she walked beneath the darkening sky, watching clouds of mist roll above her and swallows being carried away by the stormy wind, Emily felt that these scenes reflected her own life.
For the past year, she had been thrown about by misfortune like a ship caught in a violent sea. Any moments of happiness she had known had been brief and uncertain.
Now she had escaped many dangers. She was no longer controlled by those who had oppressed her. She possessed wealth and independence.
She should have been happy.
Yet happiness still seemed farther away than ever.
Emily blamed herself for allowing one sorrow to overwhelm all the blessings she had received. But this sorrow was not only her own.
She had once cried for Valancourt while he was still alive. Her tears had been partly from love, but also from compassion. She mourned seeing someone she cared for fall into weakness and misery.
Now, however, her greatest fear was not that he had ruined himself.
It was that he was dead.
And the thought that she might, even unintentionally, have contributed to his death filled her with unbearable guilt.
As she came closer to Theresa’s cottage, her fear grew stronger. Her courage completely failed her, and she could go no farther.
She sat down on a bank beside the road.
The wind groaned among the tall trees above her. In her sorrowful imagination, the sound seemed like distant cries of suffering. When the wind paused, she imagined she heard faint voices of pain far away.
She knew it was only her imagination, but the deepening darkness soon forced her to continue.
With trembling steps, she approached the cottage.
Through the window, she saw the warm glow of a wood fire. Theresa had already noticed her coming and stood waiting at the door.
“It is a cold evening, madam,” Theresa said. “A storm seems to be coming. I thought you would like a fire. Please sit here beside the hearth.”
Emily thanked her and sat down.
Then she looked at Theresa’s face, illuminated by the firelight.
Something in Theresa’s expression struck her.
Emily could not speak. She sank back into her chair, her face filled with such deep sorrow that Theresa immediately understood why she had come.
But Theresa said nothing.
At last Emily whispered:
“It is unnecessary for me to ask. Your silence and your expression already tell me everything.”
She paused, struggling to breathe.
“He is dead!”
“My dear young lady,” Theresa replied, tears filling her eyes, “this world is full of sorrow. The rich suffer just as the poor do. We must all endure what Heaven sends us.”
“He is dead, then!” Emily cried.
“Valancourt is dead!”
“Alas,” Theresa answered softly, “I fear he is.”
“You fear?” Emily said. “You only fear?”
“Yes, madam, I fear it is true. Neither the steward nor anyone in the Epourville family has heard from him since he left Languedoc.”
She wiped away her tears.
“The Count is greatly troubled. He says Valancourt always wrote regularly, but he has not received a single letter since Valancourt departed. He was supposed to return three weeks ago, but he has neither come nor written. They fear some accident has happened.”
Theresa’s voice broke.
“Never did I think I would live to cry over his death. I am old and could have died without anyone missing me, but he—”
Emily suddenly became faint.
“Water,” she whispered.
Theresa rushed to help her and held the glass to her lips.
“My dear young mistress,” Theresa said, “do not take it so deeply. The Chevalier may still be alive and well. We must hope for the best.”
“No,” Emily said weakly. “I cannot hope.”
She closed her eyes.
“There are things I know that make hope impossible. I am better now. Tell me everything you know.”
“Wait until you recover a little, mademoiselle. You look so pale.”
“No, Theresa. Tell me everything while I can still bear to hear it.”
“Very well, madam,” Theresa said. “But the steward did not say much. Richard said he seemed unwilling to speak about Monsieur Valancourt. Most of what he learned came from Gabriel, one of the servants, who heard it from my lord’s gentleman.”
“What did he hear?” Emily asked.
“Richard has a poor memory, madam, and could not remember everything. But Gabriel said that all the servants were deeply worried about Monsieur Valancourt.”
Theresa’s voice became warmer.
“They loved him dearly. They said he was so kind and gentle that they thought of him almost like a brother.”
“He was always polite to everyone. If a servant made a mistake, Valancourt was the first to ask my lord to forgive them.”
“If a poor family needed help, he was always the first to offer assistance.”
“He never acted proudly, even though he was a noble gentleman. He did not order people around like others of his rank.”
“They respected him even more because of his kindness.”
Emily listened silently, though every word caused her pain.
Theresa continued:
“My lord worries about him terribly, especially because they say he had treated Monsieur Valancourt harshly before.”
“Gabriel heard from my lord’s valet that Monsieur Valancourt had behaved recklessly in Paris. He spent much more money than my lord approved of, and people said he had been badly influenced.”
“They even said he was imprisoned in Paris, and my lord refused to help him, saying he deserved the punishment.”
“When old Gregoire the butler heard this, he bought a walking stick and planned to go to Paris himself to see his young master.”
“But then suddenly we heard that Monsieur Valancourt was returning home.”
“Oh, what a happy day that was!”
“But he had changed. He looked miserable, and my lord was cold toward him.”
“Soon afterward, he left again for Languedoc, and since then, no one has seen him.”
Theresa stopped speaking.
Emily remained silent, staring at the floor.
After a long pause, she asked:
“What else have you heard?”
Then she shook her head.
“Why do I ask? What you have already told me is enough.”
She covered her face.
“O Valancourt! You are gone—gone forever!”
Her voice broke.
“And I—I have killed you!”
Theresa was frightened by those words.
“My dear young lady, please calm yourself,” she said. “Do not speak such terrible things. You did not kill Monsieur Valancourt!”
Emily only answered with a deep sigh.
“Dear lady,” Theresa said, “it breaks my heart to see you like this. Do not sit there so pale and silent. You frighten me.”
Emily did not respond.
“Mademoiselle,” Theresa continued gently, “Monsieur Valancourt may still be alive. We do not truly know otherwise.”
At the mention of his name, Emily lifted her eyes and stared at Theresa.
Theresa misunderstood her expression.
“Yes, my dear lady. Monsieur Valancourt may still be alive and happy.”
But instead of comforting Emily, the words seemed to increase her suffering.
She rose suddenly and began walking around the small room.
She clasped her hands, sighed deeply, and trembled.
Theresa tried everything she could to comfort her.
She added more wood to the fire, cleaned the hearth, moved Emily’s chair closer to the warmth, and brought out a bottle of wine.
“It is a terrible night, madam,” she said. “The wind is freezing. Come near the fire and drink some of this wine. It will comfort you.”
“It is fine Languedoc wine, the last bottle of six that Monsieur Valancourt gave me before he left Gascony for Paris.”
“I have kept them as medicine and comfort ever since.”
“Whenever I drink it, I remember him.”
“He said to me, ‘Theresa, you are not young anymore. You should enjoy a good glass of wine sometimes. I will send you some, and when you drink it, remember your friend.’”
“Yes, those were his exact words—‘your friend.’”
Emily continued pacing, barely hearing her.
“He gave me this cottage,” Theresa continued. “He gave me shelter and everything I needed.”
“He must be in heaven with my blessed master, if any man ever deserved it.”
Theresa’s voice trembled.
She began to cry and could not pour the wine.
Her sorrow brought Emily back to herself for a moment.
Emily approached her, but then stopped.
She suddenly realized that Theresa was mourning Valancourt.
A soft musical sound drifted through the storm outside.
It was the gentle sound of an oboe or flute.
Emily stopped.
The sweet notes rose with the wind, then disappeared into the harsher sounds of the storm.
The sadness of the music touched her heart.
She began to cry.
“That is Richard, our neighbour’s son,” Theresa said, wiping her eyes. “He plays the oboe in the evenings. It sounds very sad tonight.”
Emily continued weeping.
“He often plays, and sometimes the young people dance to it,” Theresa said. “But please, dear lady, take some wine.”
She poured a glass and handed it to Emily.
“Taste it for Monsieur Valancourt’s sake,” Theresa said. “You know he gave it to me.”
Emily’s hand trembled.
She lifted the glass, but then quickly pulled it away, spilling some wine.
“For whose sake?” she whispered.
“Who gave the wine?”
“Monsieur Valancourt, dear lady.”
“It is the last bottle I have.”
Emily placed the glass down and burst into tears.
Theresa tried to comfort her, but Emily only raised her hand.
“Please leave me alone,” she said.
At that moment, someone knocked at the cottage door.
Theresa went to open it, but Emily stopped her.
Then she remembered she had sent for her servant.
“It is only Philippe,” she said.
She tried to control her tears as Theresa opened the door.
A voice outside caught Emily’s attention.
She listened.
Then she looked toward the entrance.
A man appeared.
The fire suddenly illuminated his face.
It was Valancourt.
Emily stood up in shock.
She trembled.
Then she fell back into her chair and lost consciousness.
Theresa cried out as she recognized him.
She had not seen clearly in the dim room at first.
But Valancourt was no longer looking at Theresa.
His attention was fixed on Emily, who was falling.
He rushed forward and caught her.
He was holding Emily.
The emotions that overwhelmed him at seeing the woman he believed he had lost forever cannot easily be described.
When Emily finally opened her eyes and saw Valancourt again, she could hardly believe it.
His intense anxiety changed instantly into joy and tenderness when he saw that she was recovering.
“Emily!” he whispered.
He could say no more.
Emily looked away and weakly tried to remove her hand from his.
For a brief moment, after believing him dead, she forgot every disappointment and every reason for anger.
She saw only the Valancourt she had once loved.
She felt only tenderness and happiness.
But that moment did not last.
Memories returned.
Like dark clouds covering the sun, they hid the beautiful image before her.
She remembered the Valancourt who had disappointed her.
The Valancourt she believed had lost her respect.
Her happiness faded.
She withdrew her hand and turned away to hide her sorrow.
Valancourt stood silent, overwhelmed and confused.
Emily soon forced herself to regain control.
She thanked him for helping her and prepared to leave.
Valancourt suddenly begged her to stay for a few moments.
His voice pleaded for compassion.
Emily’s heart wanted to listen.
But she resisted.
Even Theresa’s desperate requests that she not walk home alone in the storm could not change her mind.
She reached the door.
Then the heavy rain forced her to remain.
Silently, she returned to the fire.
Valancourt paced the room, struggling to speak.
Theresa, however, could not hide her happiness.
“Dear sir!” she said. “I have never been so surprised in my life.”
“We thought you were dead!”
“We were speaking about you and mourning you just when you knocked on the door.”
“My young mistress here was crying as if her heart would break—”
Emily looked angrily at Theresa.
But before she could stop her, Valancourt cried:
“O my Emily! Am I still dear to you?”
“Did you truly spare a thought for me? Did you shed tears for me?”
“You are crying now!”
“Theresa has reason to remember you with gratitude,” Emily said coldly. “She was worried because she had not heard from you.”
“Allow me to thank you for your kindness toward her. Since I am here now, she will no longer need your help.”
“Emily,” Valancourt said, unable to control himself, “is this how you greet the man you once intended to marry?”
“The man who loved you?”
“The man who suffered because of you?”
He stopped.
“Forgive me, mademoiselle St. Aubert. I do not know what I am saying.”
“I have no claim on your memory anymore.”
“I have lost every right to your respect and affection.”
“Yes, I once possessed your love. Knowing that I have lost it is my greatest suffering.”
“Suffering? That word is far too weak.”
“My dear lady,” Theresa interrupted, “talking about once having her affection? Why, she loves you now more than anyone in the world, though she tries to deny it.”
“This is unbearable!” Emily cried.
“Theresa, you do not know what you are saying.”
“Sir, if you respect my peace, you will not continue this conversation.”
“I respect your peace too much to disturb it willingly,” Valancourt replied.
“I wanted only a few moments to explain myself.”
“But now I do not even know why.”
“You no longer respect me.”
“If I tell you my sufferings, I will only lower myself further without gaining even your pity.”
Then his voice softened.
“Yet I have been very unhappy, Emily.”
“What! Is my dear young master going out in this rain?” Theresa cried.
“No, he shall not leave.”
“It amazes me how people can throw away their own happiness.”
“If you were poor people, there would be no such pride and misunderstanding.”
“To speak of unworthiness and not caring for each other, when everyone knows there is no kinder lady and gentleman in the whole province!”
Emily rose.
“I must leave. The storm has passed.”
“Stay, Emily,” Valancourt said.
“I will no longer trouble you with my presence.”
“Forgive me for not leaving sooner.”
“And if you can, sometimes pity the man who, by losing you, has lost all hope of peace.”
“May you be happy, Emily, even if I remain unhappy.”
His voice trembled.
He looked at her with deep love and sorrow.
Then he left the cottage.
“Dear heart!” Theresa cried after him.
“What a terrible night to send him away!”
“Only moments ago you were crying because you thought he was dead!”
Emily heard nothing.
She remained sitting by the fire, lost in sorrow and thought.
“The poor gentleman looks so changed,” Theresa said.
“He is much thinner than before. He looks so sad.”
“And he wears his arm in a sling.”
Emily suddenly looked up.
She had not noticed the injury.
Now she understood.
Valancourt must have been wounded by her gardener’s shot in Thoulouse.
Her pity returned.
She blamed herself for forcing him to leave the cottage during such a storm.
Soon afterward, her servants arrived with the carriage.
Emily told Theresa that she must never again speak carelessly to Valancourt about her feelings.
Then she returned home, thoughtful and heartbroken.
Meanwhile, Valancourt went back to a small village inn.
He had arrived there only shortly before visiting Theresa’s cottage.
He was traveling from Thoulouse to the home of Count de Duvarney, where he had not been since his farewell with Emily at Château-le-Blanc.
After leaving Emily, he had remained near the château for a long time because he could not bring himself to leave the place that held the person he loved most.
At times, grief and despair tempted him to return to Emily and ask for her love again, no matter how ruined his situation had become.
But his pride and his love for her finally defeated that desire.
He could not bear the thought of bringing her into his troubles.
So he left.
Yet his thoughts constantly returned to the places where they had once been happy.
On his way to Gascony, he stopped at Thoulouse.
There, he secretly wandered through the gardens where he and Emily had shared many joyful moments.
He remembered the evening before she left for Italy, when they unexpectedly met on the terrace.
He remembered every word, every look, every moment of their farewell.
While lost in these memories, Emily arrived in Thoulouse.
He saw her on the terrace.
His emotions were overwhelming.
But he controlled himself and refused to reveal his presence.
He left the gardens immediately.
Yet the image of Emily remained in his mind.
He became even more miserable.
His only comfort was returning secretly at night to walk where she had walked and watch the house where she stayed.
During one of these nights, the gardener mistook him for a thief and shot him.
The bullet wounded his arm.
The injury kept him in Thoulouse for a long time while a surgeon treated him.
He told none of his friends about his condition.
The recent coldness of his family had convinced him that they no longer cared about him.
Now, when he had recovered enough to travel, he stopped at La Vallée on his way to Estuvière.
Partly he wanted news of Emily.
Partly he wanted to know whether Theresa had lost the small allowance she depended on.
This search brought him to the cottage.
And there, by chance, he found Emily.
Their unexpected meeting showed him both the strength of Emily’s love and the strength of her determination.
It reopened all the despair he had suffered after their earlier separation.
Nothing could calm him.
Emily’s face, her voice, and her expression remained constantly in his thoughts.
Only love and despair filled his heart.
Before the evening ended, he returned once more to Theresa’s cottage.
He wanted to hear her speak about Emily and remain in the place where Emily had just been.
Theresa’s happiness at seeing him soon changed into sorrow when she noticed his troubled eyes and deep sadness.
After listening for a long time to everything Theresa told him about Emily, Valancourt gave her almost all the money he carried.
She repeatedly refused, saying Emily had already provided for her.
Then he removed a valuable ring from his finger.
He placed it in Theresa’s hand.
“Give this to Emily,” he said.
“Ask her, as my final favor, to keep it for my sake.”
“When she looks at it, perhaps she will remember the unhappy man who gave it to her.”
Theresa cried as she accepted the ring.
Not because she expected tragedy, but because she felt his sorrow.
Before she could answer, Valancourt suddenly left.
She followed him to the door, calling his name and begging him to return.
But he did not answer.
She never saw him again.